Max Haddock and the Tomb of the Dragon Rider
by deepfathom
Summary: Max, a young archaeology student, has a personal connection to an ancient Viking dig-site on a remote island. He alone knows the centuries-old legends by heart and he believes them. But are they true?
1. Part 1

Part 1

It had only taken four long years of saving, studying and undergraduate grunt-work to get here, but it had finally happened. Max Haddock was standing on a large rock in the middle of the ocean.

All the other archaeology students and professors on this trip were completely unaware of the personal significance of this particular rock. To them, it was just another ancient Viking settlement to unearth, just another bunch of artifacts to catalogue, just another run-of-the-mill dig.

Max, on the other hand, knew the old myths. He knew them like he knew how to breathe. For centuries, the tales had been passed down through the Haddock line, generation to generation, until finally, they came to him. He still remembered the nights as a boy when his father would sit by his bed and tell him wonderful, exciting stories about Viking heroes that flew through the sky on the backs of dragons. More often than not, Max would beg to hear them again and again until he fell asleep.

He had never told anyone about these precious tales, as per Haddock family tradition. And why should he? They were now his to keep and protect until he had a child of his own to give them to. No one else would understand. No one else would believe that such creatures as dragons had really existed so long ago on this very island.

The island and the first remains of the Viking village were discovered decades before he was born. Max, of course, learned about them much later while flipping through a _National Geographic_ magazine one evening. The photos of the jutting sea stacks and the high craggy cliffs speckled with green seemed to pull him back through time until he could feel the salty mist, hear the cries of sea birds, see the long ships on the horizon…

It hit him like a punch in the gut, then. He knew this place. He had never seen it before, but there it was, the same bit of land that had been described to him almost every evening of his childhood. Max decided right there that he was going to view it with his own eyes someday, smell it, walk on it, discover for himself if the legends were true.

Years later, as he stood on a ledge facing a cutting wind, the sentiment was still the same. He was strangely at home and in a way, it had almost been eerie watching the old village rise up from a long, undisturbed slumber under the layers of time. The people who had lived here were his ancient forefathers, his family. They were brave, intelligent and adventurous people who eventually island-hopped their way across the vast ocean to populate the New World they found on the other side.

And now here he was, completing the circle.


	2. Part 2

Max managed to slip away from the dig site during the longest meal break around noon. If he timed it right, he figured he'd have about forty-five minutes to explore on his own and be back before anybody missed him, if they even noticed he was gone. It wasn't that nobody liked him—plenty did—it was simply that he rarely spoke in group situations. In fact, he preferred not to say anything at all if he could help it. He believed he was better at thinking than at talking and thinking accomplished things. Talking only delayed them, or in his case, would probably mess them up. Because of this, he was often overlooked despite his tall, lanky frame. The advantage was that it made it easy for him to disappear whenever he wished.

That was why, instead of participating in the typical chatter and gossip that came with people working together, he'd been silently eyeing a dense patch of woods not too far from the village. In his gut, he was sure he needed to visit them before the trip was over, so when the opportunity came, he struck out in that direction.

The freezing wind hadn't quit since they first landed on the island several days ago. It bit him to the bone and hinted of a harsh winter to come…even though it was only the beginning of September. Max shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his green coat, wishing he'd brought along a winter hat instead of the usual black bandana he wore around his head. He liked that bandana and brought it with him on every dig. It wasn't very warm, but it made him feel lucky and a little adventurous, sort of like a pirate or a ninja. It also kept his unruly auburn hair out of his eyes while working or making observations, which was always a plus.

Max's quiet disposition naturally made him a very observant person—most of the Haddocks were, as far back as he or any of his living relatives knew. Normally he would have paused to take a good look at his surroundings, soak it all in and log away the information for later use, but today was different. He felt compelled to keep moving, as if running late for a final exam.

He had no idea what it was he was looking for, if anything at all, but, like any good archaeology student, he'd brought along some useful things just in case. His brown canvas messenger bag bumped against one hip as he picked his way over and around the rocks and underbrush. He was almost never seen without it, whether on campus or in the field. It contained, among the expected archaeological tools, a flashlight, a compass, a magnifying glass and his notebook. Back home, he was known in the archaeology department for his detailed notes and sketches and was often called on to provide information about a certain site or artifact. There was even a running joke among some of his professors that they never brought a camera to a dig if "the Haddock kid" was coming along.

A smile spread over his freckled face. He liked and got along with most of the students in the group, but it was nice to have some solitude, even if it was only for forty-five minutes. He was most comfortable when he was alone with his thoughts in quiet places like the library, his room…or in these woods, for that matter. He could definitely get comfortable here.

He let his mind drift back to the old legends and felt his heartbeat escalate in excitement and anticipation (or maybe it was exertion? he _was_ going uphill) of what he might discover. Maybe it would be big and earthshattering, like a shield sporting an unknown crest or the treasure hoard of a long lost king or very, very distant relative. It could all be waiting for him just over this rise…

At that thought, his pace quickened. Soon he reached the top of the hill, and there before him was...the same view he'd had for the entire trek so far. Trees, rocks, dirt, more trees—astoundingly unremarkable in an archaeological sense.

Max rolled his eyes and let out a huff at his premature enthusiasm. Of course it was unremarkable. What had he expected? That some glorious, shiny artifact would simply pop out of the ground and land at his feet? He knew better than that, he thought sheepishly. What he didn't know was if an artifact was what he was chasing in the first place.

He continued on at a swift pace again for a good fifteen minutes, during which nothing changed, nothing remotely piqued his interest and he eventually let his focus drop to the plain old boring dirt beneath his feet. He was beginning to wonder if he should turn around and go back when the ground suddenly ended mere inches from his boots.

With a startled whoop, he pitched forward, arms pin-wheeling in a panicked effort to keep himself from a nasty fall. It was no use. Gravity won the battle before he managed to throw his weight in the other direction and sent him careening down a steep, rocky and painful slope.

…

It took a while for the trees to swim back into focus above him while he lay stunned on the outcropping that had interrupted his rapid descent.

 _Nice one, Max_ , he thought, then rolled over and hauled himself upright. Everything hurt, but nothing was broken, only scraped and a bit bruised. He carefully got to his feet, taking a quick inventory of body parts and belongings. As he did so, it randomly occurred to him that he was the only person in this area of the island and that meant nobody could have caught an embarrassing video to post on the archaeology department's Facebook page. On the other hand, no one was there to bail him out if he got into a jam. That was a close call and it couldn't happen again.

When all was accounted for and deemed not to be permanently damaged, he blinked up in curiosity. He was in a wide, bowl-shaped cove surrounded with walls of tree root-covered stone. Even the floor was solid rock and was flat except for a deep depression in the center that might have held a lake at some point in time.

All pain was momentarily forgotten as he was caught up in the sudden mysterious sense of secrecy about the place. It wasn't a dark foreboding secrecy, more like that of a long anticipated gift about to be opened.

This was it. This was what he'd been looking for. Max was sure of it now.

Without another moment's hesitation, the young archaeology student crouched, sliding one foot over the ledge after the other. This time, the descent was much gentler and fairly easy as the rock face was pockmarked with natural foot and handholds. Letting go, he jumped the last five feet and landed with a hard thud that echoed around the walls of the empty cove.

Well, he thought, he was here, wherever "here" was. What next? Was something miraculous going to happen or should he keep going? Several options went rolling around in the forefront of his mind while he absently scanned the rocks for…what?

This was crazy. How could he be sure he wasn't just psyching himself out with the whole Vikings and dragons thing? The conviction in his father's voice as he related the tales all those years ago wasn't easy to ignore, so he'd never doubted that there was some truth to them…or had he? Was it possible he'd gotten the wrong impression as a child and only assumed as much? What if he was out here purely on an idiotic whim with nothing to gain from it? And what if this was some sort of ironic metaphor for his life choices...?

Ok, now everything was getting mixed up and pretty weird (possibly from the unintentional shortcut) and his precious time was running short. Now was the chance to prove those invading doubts piling up inside him wrong. He would never have another opportunity like this as long as he lived—

And then, with a jolt, he realized he'd stopped scanning and had been staring at it this whole time. "It" was a tiny red blob on a rounded boulder across the dry lakebed. The casual layman would have dismissed that blob as nothing more than a leaf or a piece of dried lichen, but not Max. He was only a student, but several years of careful study and training had taught him not to disregard anything at first glance. This occasion was certainly no exception. His feet began moving almost of their own accord, taking him around the rim of the former lake at a quick trot before halting at the boulder in question...except it wasn't just a boulder. It was a rune stone with a grinning red skull symbol at the very top.


	3. Part 3

Max's eyes widened in wonder and excitement. No one had encountered a symbol like the red horned skull anywhere on this island until now. It could be a tribal or family mark of some kind used to denote territory, or it could simply be a quick way to remember where the rune stone was located. Whatever its purpose, Max didn't wait to speculate and moved on to the weathered writing beneath.

His fingers trembled slightly as he fished around inside his bag and pulled out the notebook and pen. His Old Norse was a little weak on its own, but fortunately, the notebook contained several helpful runic alphabet charts and pages upon pages of notes about the workings of the language and a couple of its offshoots. It only took him a minute or two to decipher a few words:

 _Only a…Ha_ —something… _Can_ …something… _the Path._

Max scrunched his eyebrows together in concentration as he ran the last two sticky words through his mind over and over.

 _Only a what can what the path?_ _Only a what can…is that a "w, a, l"—oh! Walk! Only a…something...can walk the path!_

These were instructions on how to get somewhere, but who or what could walk the mentioned path? And where was it?

 _H…a…d…d…o…_

His thought process ground to a halt like a train wreck. The last untranslated word was a name. _His_ name. Max's mouth dropped open as a chill traveled the length of his spine.

 _Only a Haddock Can Walk the Path._

The young student stood slowly, numbness and disbelief spreading throughout his body. Was this some kind of mean-spirited joke cooked up by the others? The group was known to pull a friendly prank on each other every now and then, but they were never this elaborate and Max was usually a participant, not a target.

His gaze lowered back to the stone. The red skull symbol seemed to stare back at him, waiting for him to make his next move. He could almost hear it whispering to him. _It's true, Max. The stories are true. You know they are…_

…Did he?

After another moment of quiet contemplation, Max shoved his notebook back into the bag, a determined, adventurous expression flashing across his face. The message was meant for him and him alone. If he didn't find out for himself, he would be left forever wondering, forever questioning his own heritage

But, Max realized, there would be no continuing until he figured out what the sentence actually meant.

 _Only a Haddock Can Walk the Path._

What path?

He immediately dropped to the ground began searching the area around the stone on all-fours for any kind of clue—an arrow, more writing, a trail, _something_ —but the thousand-year-old messenger wasn't giving anything away for free. They were clever, whoever they were, and had gone to great lengths to make sure their secret was secure.

Frustrated, Max was about to give up entirely when he happened to glance up at the rock wall in front of him. There, underneath a covering of thick tree roots, was a crack. It was only visible at the particular angle he was currently at, and he would have missed it altogether had he not resigned himself to the dirt to search.

Max jumped to his feet and rushed to the crack, tearing roots away as fast as he could. It was much taller than it looked to be underneath the covering. In fact, it was about his height and if he turned sideways, he could slide right in…

Wait, what was he thinking?! It would be dangerous and outright stupid going in there all by himself. He could get hurt or stuck where no one would be able to find him. Maybe he should head back to the dig-site and get somebody to go along with him…

But how could he explain this? It would only look as if Max had created the whole scene for a bit of attention. No. The message was clear, and somehow, he felt assured that the messenger did not mean to cause him any harm.

With that in mind, Max took a deep breath, turned sideways and scooted into the slot-like crack. It was a perfect fit, just wide and tall enough for someone of his exact build to navigate comfortably.

Darker and darker the passage became as it twisted and turned, but never once did the walls narrow or threaten to cut him off completely. Feeling confidence well up inside him with every step, Max moved a little faster, breath coming in short bursts. He was contemplating stopping to dig out his flashlight, but the next step turned out not to be a step at all. With a yelp, Max fell off a rock ledge for the second time that day. It was pitch black and for half a terrifying second, he thought he'd stumbled into a complete abyss, that he would keep falling forever and ever…until he hit a solid rock floor about two feet down.

With a huff, he scrambled to his feet, shaking slightly from the scare. The flashlight was retrieved from the bag and flicked on. It was on the small side, but powerful enough to illuminate much of the area around him. He was suddenly grateful he'd decide to put in a set of fresh batteries that morning.

Max held the light high above his head like a torch. He was standing in a large, rocky chamber that had been cut into the stone by strong human hands many centuries ago. There were only two ways to go now: back through the crack to the outside, or down that long, black tunnel in the opposite wall. He'd come this far. There was no way he would let something as trivial a creepy tunnel in an unexplored cave turn him back now.

He took a cautious step forward, then another and another until he was a few feet in. Then he paused for a moment, awestruck at what his shining light had revealed. The walls were covered in runes of all sizes. They slithered in curling lines along the tunnel's sides, swirled above his head on the ceiling, trickled down the wall onto the floor in an endless stream. From what Max could gather, they were ancient spells, prayers, supplications to the Old Gods for peace, protection, safe passage to Valhalla and beyond.

A thrill coursed through Max as his brain automatically made the connection. This wasn't just a cave. This was a tomb, the final resting place of someone important.

Slowly, almost reverently, Max moved forward again. There was power in this place. A deep and ancient power that seemed to flow through the veins of runes and seep into Max's very being. In a mysterious way, he felt as if all of this was part of him, or that he had a small part in the tale it had to tell and that he always had. As he continued through the space, he could sense the former generations of Haddocks observing his every move, waiting for him to complete this chapter and carry the story on.

He stopped and turned a slow circle to see where he'd been, where he was now and where he was heading. And then his blood froze. At the very end of the tunnel, shrouded in dark shadow, loomed a huge, black, winged creature.


	4. Part 4

With a loud yell, Max threw the flashlight and jumped backwards, flinging his arms over his head in utter terror. That thing was about to attack him, he knew it. At any second, he'd feel its razor-sharp teeth and claws sink into his flesh…

Nothing happened.

He stopped mid-yell and though his heart was still pounding uncontrollably inside his chest, he slowly, cautiously uncovered his head. The flashlight had rolled across the floor a ways and come to rest in a tiny crevice by the wall, as if patiently waiting for him to stop being a total idiot and pick it up again.

Sheepishly, Max sidestepped and scooped it up. Whatever it was that had frightened him was obviously not going to hurt him, but he couldn't help hesitating a bit before facing his tall, dark and silent not-so-attacker.

It was a dragon, or rather an incredibly life-like statue of one. He was crouched in a defensive position atop a tall and sturdy pedestal hewn from the very stone of the floor. The tail curled around the pedestal, fins spread flat against the front surface. Curiously, one of the two fins was red and bore the same horned skull symbol Max had found on the rune stone outside, but in white. The long, sleek, cat-like body was painted black and every detail, down to the last carefully carved scale, was perfectly preserved. His claws dug into the stone and his bat-like wings were partway unfurled, nearly taking up all available space. His face was not what Max had always pictured a typical dragon's to look like: broad and flat on top, with all features in the front, the most striking of which were the eyes. The two greenish-yellow stones set into the sockets seemed to spark with life as Max moved the flashlight past them. They sat just above a grinning, half-opened mouthful of rounded teeth.

This was a guardian, likely a representation of something very important to the person buried here, a symbol of power and protection. It was then that Max recalled one of his favorite stories, the one about the Viking boy who befriended and trained a black dragon and later became a wise and kind leader to his people. Could this be that very dragon?

Max couldn't help but smile as he approached the statue and placed the palm of his hand on the broad snout, right between the eyes. Somehow, the action was natural, like this was how one should always greet a dragon, especially one of such significance. It was kind of like meeting a long-idolized celebrity, except without all the crowds and flashing cameras that came along with it.

He let his hand slide off the dragon's nose and started to turn, but stopped short after executing an impressive double-take. Right where his hand had been, was another set of tiny runes etched into the stone of the dragon's forehead. Whoever put them there knew that one day someone would come along and place their hand in that very spot. Well, maybe not just _any_ someone…

The thought was chilling, but in an exciting way. Max hurriedly tucked the flashlight under an arm and once again produced the notebook and pen from his bag. Most of the runes were the same, which made translating much easier this time around.

 _Only a Haddock Can Enter Here._

And, just as expected, there it was again. His name. Haddock.

Apparently he was the only one who could enter here, that much was obvious given he'd already found the rune stone and the passageway in, but…where could only he enter? Max snapped the notebook shut and began sweeping the beam of the flashlight around the tunnel in search of further clues. Behind the dragon, the tunnel ended abruptly in a wall carved in an interlocking circular pattern with an oddly shaped hole at the very center.

A doorway! Of Course! And that could only mean that the hole in the middle was intended for a key.

Max aimed the beam back at the stone dragon's face, as if doing so would bring him to life so he could point the way. Naturally, he remained in his defensive pose, bright eyes gleaming, mouth open in that same fierce grin…

 _Mouth open…_

Max's hand shot forward before he could finish that thought and the black dragon's teeth scraped the skin of his knuckles as he slid it in between the jaws. He half expected them to snap shut, taking off his hand and keeping it as a warning for those foolish enough to follow, but the dragon never blinked. Max gasped as his fingers brushed against something small, hard and cold, something that didn't belong in a dragon's mouth. His fingers curled around the object, drew it out…

In the palm of his hand was a piece of carved stone the exact shape as the hole in the door. The key.

Max nodded his sincere thanks to the black dragon (and he could've sworn the beast winked back at him) and skirted the statue to stand before the door. His hand shook slightly as he lifted the piece, slid it into place and turned it.

Stone ground loudly against stone as the interlocking parts slid around each other to reveal a diagonal seam between two half-circles. The two sides pulled away from each other and dust from the growing doorway billowed around him, making him cough. Then all movement ceased and the dead-silence of the tomb was restored.

Wide-eyed, Max waved away the rest of the dust clouds and crept toward the opening. The flashlight was just strong enough to illuminate the far wall of the circular room on the other side, and what he saw there made him stop in his tracks, completely dumbfounded.

Running along the top of that wall like a banner was a string of colorful paintings depicting dragons, people, battles and more in crude, angular Viking fashion. Before the scene of a young boy reaching up to touch a black dragon—which looked just like the statue in the tunnel—were more runes.

Max stepped into the room, trusty notebook already in hand.

 _Only a Haddock Will Understand,_ he translated quickly, then took a closer look at the paintings and realized they told a story of their own.

The boy was riding the dragon in the next scene and shooting purple fireballs at another monstrous dragon Max assumed was a fearsome enemy. Then the boy matured into a young man, now with a peg-leg, and was joined by a woman with blond hair, an axe on her back and a baby in her arms. Under the watchful eye of his loving family, the baby grew into a child with a dragon companion of his own, which he rode alongside his mother and father into a bright orange sunset. It was the story of a rich and happy life here on this island among family, dragons and peaceful times. The last two scenes however, were very different. In the first, the man embraced his now teenaged son as the blond woman laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, head bowed in visible sorrow. Next, the man was on dragon-back again, this time leaning forward with his mouth open in a mighty battle cry, a fiery blade held high above his head as he led a charging group of fellow riders into a hailstorm of flaming arrows.

That was where the story ended.

 _Only a Haddock Will Understand._

Max understood everything.


	5. Part 5

When he was little, it had never occurred to him to wonder what exactly had become of the dragon-riding chief from the stories. He'd always assumed he'd flown off into the sunset of a happy ending, lost to the slow passage of time.

It took some effort to pull his eyes away from the last wall-painting and it was with a heavy heart that he eventually turned his flashlight away in search of what he knew must come next. It only made sense that that scene would lead to a grave.

A strange glow emanated from a doorway about fifteen feet to his right. The source, he quickly discovered as he approached and entered the chamber, came from a square-shaped hole penetrating the thick layers of stone and earth that formed the roof above him. The shaft of light sliced through the darkness to illuminate the runes carved into the surface of a large, table-like slab of stone at the center of the chamber.

Max had noticed early on that the sky here never seemed to end when viewing the horizon from the island. It wasn't hard to picture it full of dragons with their wings stretched out to catch the brisk wind. And how fitting it was that a piece of that sky should forever accompany one who had dominated it so many ages ago.

And now for the runes.

 _Beneath this stone lies_

 _Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III,_

 _Son of Stoick the Vast,_

 _Chief of the Hooligan Tribe of Berk,_

 _Who fell defending all that he loved._

 _May he look ever skyward._

Max glanced up from the translation he'd just scribbled in his notebook as the full realization washed over him. He was in the presence of his legendary ancient ancestor, the source of all the myths, the mysterious messenger, the one that had specifically created this place to preserve his legacy in the coming shadow of his own death. Perhaps the inhabitants of Berk had been forced off the island by the very invaders that claimed the life of their leader? Perhaps this was all that was left—besides the legends—to remember him by? To remember a time of dragons and of those who first befriended them?

Chills ran the length of Max's body. It couldn't get any more real than this.

Quivering, he moved in for closer observation of the slab and stopped when the beam of his flashlight reflected off something shiny at the top above the runes.

It was a round metal shield emblazoned with a swirling black dragon symbol, complete with one red tailfin like the statue. It rested flush with the surface of the slab in a circular indentation, like a lid on a manhole in the street. Beneath it the words _Only a Haddock Can See_ were carved.

Max already knew he was the only one who should see what was hidden beneath the shield. It was his right and for a thousand years, the chief had slept, waiting for someone just like him, a true Haddock, to return and claim his heritage.

His movements were automatic, arms reaching out, fingers sliding into the grooves between shield and stone, lifting it out with an air of reverence. It was curiously light for something plated in so much metal, but it was apparent from the assorted dents and scratches that it had seen many a battle and served its master well.

Max laid it carefully aside before reaching into the hole underneath and pulling out a wide, flat wooden box. The intricately carved lid was easily removed and he couldn't help but pause for a moment to close his eyes, inhale the musty scent and prepare himself to view the contents.

What would he find? What more could this forbearer have to show him that he hadn't already?

Finally, he let out the breath, opened his eyes…

…and broke into an all-out grin. He should have known right from the start that the box _would_ contain a bunch of notebooks. It wouldn't be the inheritance of a Haddock without at least one such item.

He picked up a leather bound journal gingerly, as if it might disintegrate at the slightest touch, and opened it to find the pages covered in detailed notes and sketches of various dragons, plants, animals, maps, people, places, everything imaginable and then some. What really got his heart racing was the undeniable fact that these were Chief Hiccup's own writings, his own documentations of day-to-day life on the Island of Berk, their history, a window into the past…

…and it was the greatest treasure any archaeology student could dream of! Just wait until his professors got a load of this! It would mean an instant ticket to top-student status, maybe even grad school…

 _Only a Haddock Can See._

The words ran through his mind like a scathing reprimand. No. No, he couldn't. It wouldn't be right. How could he even have thought of giving it all away solely for academic gain? After so many generations, he was the lucky one who happened to find his way back. This place and these records were left for him, though it was impossible for the chief to have known who the right Haddock would be and when exactly he would come along. They were proof of the authenticity of the dragon myths that anybody outside of the Haddock family would only believe to be a laughable hoax.

In a split-second decision, Max opened his bag and began slipping the journals into it one by one. When he reached into the box for the last book, he was surprised to feel the slight brush of a lightweight object on his skin. He snatched it up and held it aloft in front of his flashlight. It was an incredibly thin, curved and semitransparent shell-like material, black as a night sky without stars.

It was a dragon's scale.

…

Max had replaced the empty box in the stone slab and gently laid the shield to rest in its proper place above it. With one last look, he'd left the chief in peace, hoping he could rest easier knowing that he and the dragons would be remembered. He'd passed the wall of paintings, given the dragon statue a farewell nod (convinced it had winked back a second time), trailed his fingers along the rune-covered tunnel, and sidled through the Haddock-sized slot back into the afternoon sun and biting wind.

Now, as he hiked to the dig-site, the weight of the journals in his bag and the smooth feel of the dragon's scale between his fingers in his pocket reminded him that he had an important task. From this moment on, he was the one responsible for beginning the next stage of the Haddock tale. He was also a guardian of the past, a hope that maybe someday, when the rest of the world was ready to remember and accept such strange and impossible things as the existence of dragons, he could share it. It was both exciting and slightly daunting.

"Hey, Max!"

He looked up, startled at the friendly greeting. He was so deep in thought that he hadn't realized his feet had automatically taken him back to the village dig-site.

"Hey, Max," the fellow student repeated. "Where ya been?"

Max hesitated, then gave a shrug and offered a vague gesture at the woods behind him.

"Ah, ok. Well…did you find anything interesting?"

With a smile, Max shook his head.


End file.
